Hey! Hey you guys! LOOK AT THIS IT'S A STORY UPDATE!
I had actually started writing this the day I saw Dark of the Moon, and as such this is a DotM aftermath fic. Only took me a few years to get it out in the open! I called it Iridescent because I was originally going to have those lyrics in this story as well...but apparently no one does that anymore? I'm so confused with the changes on this site! D:
While it is pretty obvious, I am indeed a bit rusty at this whole writing thing, and since I've written chunks of this story over several years, there might be a different feel to parts of it than others. Merp.
Anyway. I did my best to get as many "reactions" as I could - even enlisting the help of the always-glorious Kibble Beast, who wrote some amazing Sam/Bee reactions and a good chunk of Optimus/Lennox - but some of the Autobots and humans are neglected. I just couldn't get a feel for their characters. My apologies.
Speaking of Kibble Beast! This fic is meant to be a sister-story to an as-of-yet unreleased fic of hers. They can be read separately with no problems, but they mesh together quite well.
Without further ado...please enjoy!
P.S. - if you come across any grammatical mistakes, things that don't make sense, etc. feel free to point them out to me! I've read over this story so many times I don't think I could catch them anymore.
The battle was over.
And they had won, yet in the process they had lost so much.
Optimus waived off Ratchet's attempts at a temporary repair to his severed arm, telling him to tend to the others first. That was his duty as a Prime; put others before himself.
Putting others before yourself...strange how he and Sentinel had such different views of placing others' needs before their own.
"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," Optimus repeated softly. "How could you, Sentinel? There are nearly seven billion humans on this planet. They have needs, too." The commander gripped the side of the bridge with his remaining hand. "You were the one that taught me all life is sacred. And yet you not only turned on the humans of this planet, but also your own kind..." The harsh memory of Ironhide's and Wheeljack's deaths sent a sharp pain through his Spark. It was silently crying out in sadness at the loss of two great soldiers, team members, and friends. They were good mechs. In the rare and short moments in time where the Autobots were not fighting in a battle, Optimus enjoyed their company and he cherished the memories he had with them. And when they were in battle, though sometimes overzealous, they never killed when it wasn't necessary. Unfortunately it was almost always necessary.
But that's inevitable when you're fighting a war.
It was a strange feeling, not seeing Ironhide standing with the others, complaining about some joint of his that was acting up- which consequently riled Ratchet, who took the slight on his medical prowess very offensively. As foolish as it may have been, Optimus had always viewed the Weapons Specialist as indestructible...the mech had survived thousands of battles, and always fought through any injury he may have attained.
No matter what, after every battle fought, Optimus could always count on one thing; Ironhide would be standing by his side at the end of it.
But not anymore.
His oldest friend was gone, and for the first time since leaving Cybertron, Optimus felt truly alone.
It was hard to think that this war, this all-consuming, devastating war started between himself and Megatron. They were once as close as brothers; how could they let it get so far out of control? How could he let it get so far out of control? Surely there was a better way to resolve their differences in opinion than war - but Optimus reminded himself that he and Megatron were not the only influences that decimated their home planet. And it was too late for the "what if" scenarios...he had convinced himself for a long time that the only way the war could end was with one of their deaths. Even still, the Autobot commander mourned the loss of his once-close friend. Was Megatron being honest when he asked for a truce? Should he have trusted him? Was he wrong in thinking only Megatron's death would bring victory to the Autobots? It was something Optimus was afraid he would never find out, and those questions would haunt him for the rest of his life.
"Optimus. Optimus," Ratchet said, gently shaking his leader's arm. Optimus jumped slightly; having been so deep in thought, he hadn't noticed his medical officer's approach.
"Are you okay?"
The Prime sighed. "No, Ratchet. I am not okay."
"I didn't expect you to be," the medic replied somberly. He silently began his assessment of Optimus's damaged arm, scanning and calculating possible solutions. "I can do a simple field patch that will hold until I can create a new joint for you," Ratchet announced, having finished with his scans. Optimus simply nodded as he sat down on the bridge, allowing Ratchet to reattach his arm. As he was finishing up, the medic pointed further down the road. "NEST is gathering over there to leave for headquarters. You're welcome to leave with them."
"But what about-"
"Don't worry about the clean-up. I can handle it."
"Are you sure?" Optimus asked, studying Ratchet intently. It was a gentle term for it indeed, but clean-up duty- especially the kind he would have to do- was not an easy task.
The CMO nodded. "I'm sure," he replied confidently.
The Prime conceded, albeit reluctantly, and rose silently to join the other Autobots.
"And Optimus...I'll...take care of Ironhide as well."
"I cannot ask you to do that, especially after your task here," Optimus protested, looking his friend in the optic.
"You didn't ask me," the medic replied resolutely. When Optimus still objected, Ratchet added, "I'm serious. You'll have enough to deal with from all the government agencies wanting answers. Let me handle this."
Sighing, the commander said, "Just...be careful with him, okay?"
"You know I will."
Ratchet waited until nearly everyone had left before turning to the gruesome task of gathering the bodies of both factions. It had been quite some time since he'd had a task this big, and three years since he'd been forced to carry the remains of a teammate off the battlefield. In the larger scope of things, this was only a small blip in his lifetime, but the years on Earth felt a hundred times longer. So much had happened...much was gained, and so much more was lost.
The medic reverently gathered the remains of Wheeljack in his arms and laid him gently on a flatbed truck to be taken back with him to D.C. A deep sadness took hold of the CMO's Spark, seeing the once bright and lively inventor lying broken and lifeless in front of him.
"We'll miss you, Wheeljack," he said softly. The medical officer allowed himself a brief moment of silence before returning to his task. Once Ratchet was sure he was secure, he went on to dispose of the Decepticon bodies. The first he came upon was Barricade. The sight of the mech that shot the final blow to the Autobot inventor stirred up an intense anger in Ratchet that he hadn't felt in ages. Wheeljack was a good friend of his...and to watch him be executed not even ten feet away, after pleading for his life-
The next thing Ratchet knew, his cannon was charged and ready to fire at Barricade's head. The pacifistic medic was uncharacteristically shaking with fury at the Decepticon.
"I should pull the trigger. I should annihilate every last atom of your body until there is absolutely nothing left for what you did to Wheeljack. I should," Ratchet growled, "But I won't. Because then I'd be no better than you." He stowed the cannon with a grunt of frustration. They wouldn't even let him attempt to help Wheeljack, as pointless as it would have been. The CMO knew instantly that his friend was gone, but that didn't mean he didn't want to try. It just wasn't fair.
But in a war, nothing is ever really fair.
The medic began unceremoniously tossing Decepticon remains into one of the crashed ships; he planned to get it working again and then send it into the sun. Though the bodies offered many resources, many of which Ratchet had a lot of use for, he couldn't bear the thought of using Decepticon parts to repair his friends, or using a weapon created from their melted down and reformed exoskeletons. As it was, he already begrudgingly decided to take parts from other damaged ships to restock his own supplies, and that was difficult enough.
After what seemed like an eon of never-ending enemy corpses, Ratchet finally only had two left - Megatron and Sentinel Prime. He had been putting them off as long as possible, not wanting to remember all the pain and agony and anguish the pair of them had caused, to the Autobots, his friends, himself...for a brief moment, the immense feeling of loss and failure engulfed the medic so entirely he was unable to move. It was rare when Ratchet allowed the feeling to overwhelm him - he was a field medic, he had much more important things to concentrate on instead of those already dead - but now his tortured Spark was crying out in an anguish so intense he was afraid it would never end. Millennia of war had taken countless mechs from him. Bots he spent orns and orns fixing and healing were sent back into battle only to be shot and blown up and ripped apart again and again, and the cycle never ended. Ratchet couldn't save everyone. He couldn't save Jazz, Ironhide, Wheeljack - he had even failed Optimus, who returned not through his skill as a medic but through the Matrix of Leadership...how cruel it was, for such skilled mechs to be taken well before their time, while he, older than most of them knew, survives another orn, to face another wave of injured soldiers he can't save. His own survival was a constant reminder of his failure.
Ratchet finally pushed himself back up - in his grief he hadn't realized he had fallen - and forced himself to keep going. Even if he was a failure, to give up would be to abandon everything he fought so hard for, and to make all those deaths that haunted him worth nothing. Giving up would allow the Decepticons victory over him. And he vowed that day would never come.
The CMO's anguish turned bitter upon the sight of the last two mechs. They had caused so much pain and loss to not only their species, and their world...but countless others as well. Could they really claim it was all for Cybertron? Did they really believe fighting and killing their own dwindling species would somehow reclaim the Golden Age for their now long-dead planet? Surely they could see the massive casualties to both sides, and yet they still fought on, even as the Autobots fought on. It takes two sides to fight a war, and the Autobots were just as responsible for the losses as the Decepticons. But the alternative to fighting would be so much worse.
Ratchet spent the rest of his time in determined silence, repairing the damaged ship and preparing its flight path into the sun. The sooner he could erase these traitors from existence, the better. It wasn't long before enough repairs had been made - the skills he picked up from the fallen inventor proved incredibly useful - and he set the ship on its course. With a low rumble and the sound of creaking metal scraping against concrete, the warship heaved itself from the city streets and rose higher and higher until Ratchet could see it no longer.
"Good riddance."
And with that final thought, the medic took Wheeljack and began the long drive back to DC.
For once, the Wreckers were completely silent.
It served to illustrate just how solemn their situation was.
It was hard to believe, Roadbuster mused. He hadn't known either mech well, but he knew them by reputation as a hardcore warrior and genius, respectively. To have both of them suddenly taken from the Autobots was a hard blow. He had looked up to both Ironhide and Wheeljack, being both a soldier and an engineer. He greatly admired their skills, and hoped to be as great a fighter as the Weapons Specialist or as intelligent an inventor as the scientist, perhaps studying under them in the future.
But now that would never happen.
Roadbuster was suddenly intensely grateful Topspin and Leadfoot survived the battle. As Wreckers, the three bots had seen an incredible amount of death, and took on the missions others would consider suicide, but that didn't mean they were any less affected by the loss of a comrade. It had happened too many times before - Impactor, Broadside, Sandstorm...and others that went off on missions and were never heard from again, like Bulkhead and Ultra Magnus and Springer...but that was the price of being a Wrecker. It wasn't an easy job, but someone had to do it.
The three racecars continued down the deserted road behind Sideswipe, with Mirage driving silently behind them. The red mech was also new to Earth, but not to the team under Optimus Prime's command. He had known Jazz incredibly well - the two were often paired for spying missions before the silver saboteur set off for Earth - and upon learning of his death on this planet, Mirage felt a pain in his Spark more intense than he ever would have thought possible. Jazz was the closest he ever had to a brother, to a family - his own was taken out in a Decepticon raid barely an orn after he came into being. Once he was old enough Mirage joined the Autobots, and immediately Jazz took a liking to him, and served as a mentor to the red mech throughout training and his first battles, before becoming partners and close friends. Jazz was older than he - by how much, Mirage didn't know, as the saboteur would always playfully avoid the topic. Even so, Jazz's death came much too early for a mech of his skill. Knowing that he died at the hands of Megatron himself, while allowing the rest of the team to escape the Decepticon leader's wrath, was only the most miniscule of comforts. The only mechs Mirage knew that survived a direct confrontation with the Decepticon leader were, coincidentally, on Earth as well. Optimus, obviously, who had survived more than anyone, and Ratchet too, though he steadfastly refused to speak of it...and finally Bumblebee, by far the youngest, who faces a lasting consequence for his bravery. Mirage spotted the yellow scout up ahead, just behind Optimus. Young as he was, Bumblebee carried the weight of war and lost friends as much as everyone. No one was immune from such devastating events.
For all the radio-phrases at his disposal, Bumblebee had no words now. He did not know what was worse about Wheeljack's death: that it had been cruel, unnecessary and merciless or that he did nothing to stop it.
Bumblebee knows that he could not have prevented it for long, but nor did he actually try.
Barricade dealt the fatal blow to his friend. Would anything have been different had he finished the Decepticon when they last battled?
Sam must have felt him sag slightly on his axis; the human gently rested a hand on his dashboard. "It's okay," his human said quietly, red-rimmed eyes close to brimming with tears again. Carly wrapped her arms around him in a futile attempt for comfort.
It was not okay, and they all knew it.
"I should have saved them. I was there and I did nothing."
"No, 'bee," Sam said, his voice strained and breaking. "You- you couldn't have saved them like I couldn't have saved you."
"You are not Cybertronian," Bumblebee replied. "Your capacities are far different to ours. I- I should have done more."
"I don't know what I'd do if you'd died," Sam suddenly said. his thoughts clearly stuck on mortality.
"Live, I hope," the mech responded, trying to make light of it but even he could not see happiness today.
"Wheeljack saved my life with his inventions," Sam continued. "He- he was really special, 'bee- don't you let his time with you go. You live as he would have wanted you to."
"I always will," the yellow soldier promised.
Even with the Autobots' conviction to protect mankind and his upset that Sam has had to fight once more, he was silently and fiercely glad that his boy ended Dylan Gould's traitorous existence.
If that filth had not prompted Soundwave, if another minute had passed without violence until that mothership had distracted them all, Wheeljack might still be alive. The pain of the latest battle may not have been as deep. There would be one less friend to mourn in the dozens he's lost. There would be one less regret among the hundreds he always carried with him.
Everyone was still quiet and subdued after arriving back at the base in Washington D.C. No one really knew what to do or where to go - those in charge were being pulled in so many directions they didn't know what to attend to first, and the others stood around or wandered aimlessly, itching for something to take their minds off of the battle they'd just survived. Sideswipe wordlessly transformed at his bay, crouched down to the floor and held his helm between his hands, silently mourning the loss of Ironhide. Bumblebee would have rested a hand on Sideswipe's shoulder armour if he thought physical contact would have comforted the other Autobot at all, but the silver Cybertronian had retreated into a deep grief so private he knew that only time could begin to try and soothe it.
Sideswipe had not simply lost a friend but his mentor, and his Spark was so stricken that it was astounding he was managing to function normally. He was separated from his twin already; Primus knew how he would manage without the mech who taught him all that he knew.
It was Spark-breaking to see the once confident and vibrant mech so depressed and secluded.
"I should have been there," Sideswipe kept telling himself. "I was right there, just feet away...but instead I was gloating over the defeat of the Dreads. If I had only followed Ironhide back through the gates, instead of stopping short..." the silver mech couldn't bring himself to continue. He knew he could have made a difference -apart, he and Ironhide were formidable, but together, unstoppable- but instead he had to bask in the glory of their success.
A glory that lasted mere minutes before giving way to terrible, overwhelming grief.
His mentor...indestructible, stubbornly-surviving Ironhide...had been murdered.
He hadn't gone out in a blaze of glory, taking down a dozen Decepticons with him. No...he was attacked from behind, from someone he trusted.
How insulting to the mech who had fought more battles than any other Autobot. Pure, unadulterated anger began replacing the grief in Sideswipe's Spark. Had Optimus not already killed Sentinel, the Corvette would have taken him on himself. He did not care how much bigger or stronger the fallen Prime may have been; Ironhide never cared when the odds were against him, so why should he?
"You're a skilled mech, Sideswipe, but you're not ready for that kind of action." the silver Autobot could hear Ironhide's words in his mind. "It's one thing to be brave, and another to be stubbornly idiotic."
Even in death, Ironhide could still chide him for being overconfident.
After the seemingly innumerable meetings and debriefings came to an end - it became very clear that those demanding answers had no sympathy for neither the fallen heroes nor the soldiers who survived such a harrowing experience - Optimus espied a lone human remaining in the hangar, standing silently; Colonel Lennox was still, gazing at nothing in particular, and, admonishing himself, the mech was suddenly reminded that grief came to them all in different ways.
"Colonel," he said politely to announce his presence.
Lennox glanced up at him immediately, startled out of his stupor. "Optimus? Didn't hear you coming."
A moment of silence passed between them before Prime realized exactly where the man was standing.
"Ironhide's bay," he said softly.
Lennox sighed heavily, and Optimus could see that beneath his professional exterior the emotions were strong, threatening to crack his resolve. "I just- I... I didn't think he could die."
"Nor did any of us," Prime replied quietly. "He was the strongest of us all."
"Mearing was wrong when she said it was on you," Lennox said firmly, clearly having had the thought for a while. "And I know you're gonna take it that way but Ironhide's death was not your fault. You couldn't have known."
Perhaps not, but he should have. Optimus should have been there to catch Sentinel's betrayal, not his mechs. "It was not how he would have wanted to die," Prime eventually said, and both of them know he had completely avoided agreement. He knew that Lennox could not truly comfort him nor he soothe the human's breaking heart, but if by speaking of Ironhide they remembered him, he did it gladly. "He would have preferred to be outnumbered and taking as many as he could with him."
Lennox was close enough to Ironhide to know that this was exactly what the warrior would have wanted, but he took a deep breath and tried futilely to make them both feel better. "At least he took a few 'cons before he went, right?"
"That he did," Optimus agreed. "He was a true warrior."
Lennox ran his fingers through his short hair and laughed suddenly; a short humorless bark that had nothing to do with amusement. "How do I tell my little girl he's gone? She followed him everywhere when she had the chance."
"Ironhide will be missed by far many more than he would think," Optimus said quietly. "There was so much valour and goodness beneath that gruff exterior. Your child freed a certain joy in him that we had not seen in a long time, despite however much he might have denied his affection for her." As he spoke, he noticed Lennox choke silently on emotion and it broke his Spark to see the strong human so defeated.
The man looks abruptly away, eyes closing tightly, and Optimus realizes he is trying to contain tears. After a moment or two to allow him a little privacy, he thinks better of it and kneels beside him.
"William," he called softly, and waits briefly for a response. He notes that Lennox has frozen, likely because human first names were rarely ever utilised at NEST. Prime continues, sure that his companion is listening even if he seemingly has not registered anything. "William, to show emotion is no weakness. You have lost more than an ally, as we all have. Ironhide would not want our pity nor our sorrow, but as we must bear his loss then we must bear it as honourably as would befit him."
"I'm a soldier," Lennox finally replied, voice tight. "I shouldn't-"
"But you should mourn a friend," Optimus persisted gently. "And you should mourn your family, for you are one of our brothers."
At this the man turned back to him; Prime saw a single tear trailing over the human's cheek, another swiftly following from his other eye. Lennox had no words, but it didn't matter.
"We cannot cry," the Autobot said, "but do not think that we mourn him any less than you. It is a blessing that you can convey your feelings so simply and elegantly."
"Most of us call it a curse," Lennox finally choked out, not bothering to wipe his eyes clear. He looked away once more. "And emotions are what make us so weak."
"On the contrary...Emotions, and being able to show them, are what make your species so strong. I have always admired the human ability to form such strong bonds so quickly."
The NEST colonel said nothing in return, but Optimus could sense him quickly losing the composure he was desperately trying to keep. Tears now fell unchecked down Will's face, and a few seconds later his resolve crumbled completely and he fell to his knees with a loud sob, burying his face in his hands and crying so hard his entire body shook and not caring who saw him anymore, for he was grieving the loss of a brother.
Optimus mourned silently beside him, his Spark breaking further and further with each of Will's sobs. The pain of death was always compounded by the anguish felt by those who loved them.
After several moments, Lennox regained his composure and got back to his feet, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Sorry," he said quietly, head bowed.
"There is no need to apologize," Optimus replied gently. "Expressing emotion is a defining part of who you are. To deny that would be to deny yourself as a human."
Will looked up at the Autobot commander, and for the first time noticed the sadness in his optics. The sudden realization caused a wave of memories to flood him in new light - every interaction with the Autobots, every time he assumed they had no outward expression of emotion played back in his mind, and he could instantly see the subtle changes in their body language he missed before. They were not mere machines - not that he'd ever believed it for a second - but to finally see, understand, how Cybertronians express emotion, he couldn't believe he never saw it before. "I guess that means you're becoming human, too," the soldier said, attempting a small, sad smile.
The main entrance to headquarters had been blocked off, due to Ironhide's remains resting in the driveway. Some soldiers had covered him to protect his body from further disintegration, something that didn't go unnoticed by Ratchet. There was truly goodness in mankind; a respect and compassion existed in the few that did not consider them as mere robots.
The CMO wordlessly began meticulously gathering every last speck of oxidized metal. That was one of his closest friends, damnit. Slag him if he'd let even a single molecule of Ironhide escape his sight. Very few mechs have survived as long as Ironhide. Ratchet was slightly older, yes, but Ironhide was always at the front of the battle, cannons blazing, prepared to take down as many Decepticons as he possibly could before getting injured enough for Ratchet to literally drag him out of the fight. It had gotten to the point that the Autobot medic would make sure he was present at any battle the Weapons Specialist was fighting in - no other medic had the courage nor means to do what Ratchet could, especially regarding this specific mech - and would constantly monitor Ironhide''s vitals until he deemed his condition too critical to continue. Of course, Ironhide would always protest, but after several near-death experiences and the subsequent recovery at the CMO's hands, he would learn to trust Ratchet's judgement...but would continue to argue just for the nostalgia. Ironhide also looked out for Ratchet - they both refused to admit it, but the two had formed a very strong friendship - and would pay special attention to the medic's whereabouts on the battlefield to make sure his route to injured mechs was as Decepticon-free as possible.
They truly owed each other their lives.
Or, at least, he used to.
Once he started gathering the Weapons Specialist's larger remains, something bright and shiny caught his optic.
Shiny?
Cosmic rust doesn't leave anything shiny.
As the medic investigated, he discovered a single part untouched by the cosmic rust.
A shoulder joint.
Smiling despite his somber mood, Ratchet carefully set it aside for later. He knew someone who would appreciate it.
Optimus was glad to finally have a moment to himself. It wasn't that he didn't care about the others and how they were coping. He did, not just because it was his duty as a Prime, but because they were his friends. His family. But having to be strong for everyone else was taking its toll on him.
Everybody was grieving for their fallen mechs, and humans, too. The sorrow was testament to how much the departed were all loved, but the sheer volume of suffering demanded that someone had to be strong for the others. Optimus supported his friends and did it willingly; their pain was his own, their burdens his to share and take if he could, though he could no more relieve their sadness than his own.
Yet in the quiet of the hangar, at last apart from all others and their needs, his own grief overwhelmed him.
And Optimus suddenly wished he could cry, because then perhaps those humans who thought of them as machines would see that Cybertronians could feel as they did.
Ratchet peered into the bay, intending to inform Optimus he could properly attach his arm, but he thought better of it when he laid optics on his grieving medic decided to give his Prime a moment to himself, something he rarely had as the leader of an entire faction, and returned to his medbay. Optimus would arrive when he was ready.
Shortly afterward, the Prime wordlessly appeared in the doorway to the medbay, waiting for Ratchet's recognition before entering.
"Optimus," the medic nodded, gesturing to the prepared berth. He could still see the intense, barely-contained sadness in the Prime, and decided now was not a time for words.
The flamed mech quietly reclined on the indicated medical table while Ratchet attached a number of wires and sensors.
"Ready?" the medic asked, fingers poised over the control panel.
Optimus nodded.
"See you soon."
Something was wrong.
Optimus should have been awake by now; the sedative should have worn off long ago. Did he make a mistake, and the shoulder joint was indeed infected with cosmic rust, which was now wreaking havoc on his leader? Or did he give Optimus more sedative than he could handle in his weakened state? The worried medic began scan after scan, hoping to figure out what was wrong.
He did not like what he found.
Optimus seemed to be falling into a deep stasis, much like he did after the forest battle three years ago. But for the life of him, Ratchet couldn't figure out why.
The Prime's vitals were all within a normal range...but still he dove deeper into a state of living death.
The CMO rushed to grab his equipment; he had lost too many friends already, and he was not about to lose one more.
"Come back to us, Optimus," Ratchet pleaded, desperately working to pull his leader back to consciousness. "It's not your time to go yet. Please come back!"
But nothing was working. Fear penetrated every fiber of Ratchet's being - he was failing his commander, his friend, his family, again. "I swear to Primus, I will reach into the Matrix and drag you out with my bare hands if you make me, and don't you think for a second that I'm joking!"
But the medical officer did not need to go through with his threat, for there was a flicker of movement in his Prime's optics and the Autobot leader's vitals slowly returned to normal.
"Optimus?" Ratchet asked worriedly, peering intently at the mech's slowly-refocusing optics. "Can you hear me?"
"Ironhide..." Optimus rasped. He blinked twice to regain focus of the sudden change in scenery. "Where's Ironhide? And Jazz, and all the others?"
The medic wasn't sure what to say. "They're...they're gone, Optimus. Don't you remember?" he replied finally, uncertainty in his voice.
The Prime was silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "It must have been the Matrix," he concluded, and the relic glowed brighter as he had this thought. There was no other explanation. Even now, the ancient Cybertronian artifact continued to surprise him.
"You talked to them?" Ratchet asked carefully.
"Yes," Optimus said, and sensing the fear within his medic, he continued, "and none of them blame you for their deaths."
Ratchet didn't reply, but he didn't have to. The Prime could see the relief flood the medic even as he turned away.
Optimus flexed and rotated his arm, testing out the new joint. "Ratchet, I must commend you on your medical skills. This joint feels much stronger that I would have expected from a handmade part."
The medic let a small smile escape his mouth. "That's because it's not a handmade part."
When Optimus looked at him quizzically, Ratchet continued. "That joint you have now belonged to Ironhide."
The blue and red mech blinked in surprise. "But the rust?"
"Only part of him that was completely undamaged," the CMO answered over his shoulder, opening a cabinet and storing his tools. "He was always complaining about that shoulder, but he complained about nearly everything, damaged or not, so I doubt you'll have too much trouble." He shut the cabinet and reminisced a moment before turning to face Optimus. "I thought you would appreciate it."
Optimus bowed his head and smiled to himself, even more assured that Ironhide would always be with him. "Thank you, old friend."
Several days filled with chaos and demands meant the Autobots rarely had time to themselves, but now that the frenzy was over, they retreated from most contact to process the incredible loss they faced. Optimus took the first chance he could to drive out of the city. Ratchet followed him a short while later, driving for hours through beautiful meadows and rolling hills casting shadows in the sunset before arriving at the Autobot leader's location. Ratchet noticed his Prime standing at the top of a large hill deep in thought, staring up at the stars. The medical officer strode up the hill and stood silently next to his commander. There was nothing to say that Optimus didn't already know; all Ratchet could do now was support his Prime.
Optimus had never quite appreciated the entirety of what Ratchet had been through because of the war. He knew the medic was much older and had seen many more battles, but he never stopped to think about how many mechs Ratchet had lost on the battlefield. How many close friends of his he was forced to watch become nothing but empty, lifeless shells of their former selves. The Prime had lost many of his own soldiers, yes, but none were as close to him as Ironhide. He couldn't even imagine how many close friends Ratchet lost.
"How do you do it, Ratchet?" Optimus asked suddenly. "How do you get used to losing so many warriors on the battlefield, and deal with so much pain and sadness?"
The older medic studied the Prime for a moment before replying. "You never get used to it, Optimus," he replied solemnly. "Not after a hundred battles, not after a thousand. It affects you just as much in your latest battle as it did in your first."
"Then how do you deal with it?"
"Every mech has to discover their own way to cope. For me, I tell myself the best way to honor their bravery is to keep on living, because I can still save others, even if I couldn't save them. Easier said than done, I know," Ratchet added, "It takes time to move on. But ask yourself this...would Ironhide want you to constantly feel guilt and despair, or keep on fighting until we've won?"
Optimus nodded slowly, answering even though there is no need to voice it. "Until we've won," he repeated as though he was making a promise.
Another few moments of silence settled between the two mechs before Optimus spoke again.
"Ratchet?"
"Yes, Optimus?"
The Autobot Commander smiled to himself and let out a soft laugh before continuing.
"My shoulder hurts."